


We Ask For No Mercy or No Miracles

by goldveines



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape Mentions, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, self-harm mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldveines/pseuds/goldveines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Abandoned. </i><br/><i>It’s the word that Andrew Minyard wears in jagged lines across his forearms, beneath long-sleeved shirts and black bands. It’s the word that has followed him alongside his shadow from birth onward. He mouths the word in the dark of the night, letting himself memorize the sound of lips smacking together and hard letters that find their way from silence.</i><br/>--<br/>REVAMPED soulmate au where you have a clock on your wrist counting down the minutes until you meet your soulmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew is called to Wymack's in the middle of the night, only to find Kevin Day sitting on his couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important info: picture Kevin coming a year later (aka when neil comes to the foxes).

_Abandoned._

It’s the word that Andrew Minyard wears in jagged lines across his forearms, beneath long-sleeved shirts and black bands. It’s the word that has followed him alongside his shadow from birth onward. He mouths the word in the dark of the night, letting himself memorize the sound of lips smacking together and hard letters that find their way from silence.

Every morning Andrew swallows a pill--swallows that word--so that it may hide in his stomach for a few hours, weighing him down and dragging him up. _Abandoned_ is a word that Andrew uses as sword and shield; with it wielded in front of his body, he drifts through the world untouchable be neither person nor event. 

It’s easy to tell when another dose is necessary, because Andrew chokes on the word clawing at his insides. He can feel himself being weaned off the drugs, something he has relied on for years, and he hates that he needs to take another dose. _Abandoned_ is a word he has grown into. Like willow roots growing around impossible obstacles, Andrew has grown around this word and embraced it fully as a part of him that ravages his surroundings.

Being that as it is, soulmate is not a term he is particularly found of. Soulmate implies that the word he clings to so fiercely doesn’t quite weigh the same. 

Soulmates aren’t so straightforward, however. Life is always a gamble, twists and turns at every corner. One being that one’s soulmate isn’t required to spend their lives with one, only that they would meet one. Another is that one is born with a clock already set to zero. Or that soulmates aren't necessarily romantic and still leave one reeling. And the most common, that someone be more than one person’s soulmate. It’s a race to the clock--literally.

Andrew had, at one point, thought of his soulmate quite a lot. There had been a time where the inevitability of his soulmate was a rope he used to haul himself from six feet under. Too soon though, he found himself hanging from that rope. Now he thought his soulmate would be one that would abandon him--it would be only fitting.

The boys of Andrew’s past have ruined all thoughts of a soulmate, being that all the stupid clock brought him is pain. They are the boys who fucked Andrew harder when they caught glimpse of the still-counting clock. They are the boys that led Andrew to claw and scratch and pound at his clock. To say the least of them is Drake is no small thing. Drake is and will perhaps always be the worst of them.

Andrew can hardly read the numbers on his clock because the clear coating is so fuzzy with scratches. He can see blurs of numbers moving behind the haze. 

On his seventeenth birthday, Andrew seeks the stars and fear enough to wake him; he drinks on the roof of Eden's. He tears his armor from the pit of his stomach that night, wearing it like a last wish. 

Closer and closer comes his soulmate. Andrew couldn’t distinguish the exact numbers on his left wrist, only that half of them had hit zero because they had stopped moving. He could have a week left or he could have months left. He relished in this uncertainty. 

No doubt, he would know he had met his soulmate when he saw the numbers stop moving, but he would not know until then. 

Clocks have years, days, minutes, and seconds. It would become apparent only when he was less than a day that he would meet his soulmate--and that’s if Andrew cared to lift the layers he has covering his clock. 

\--

Wymack calls Andrew at three in the morning. Because of the late hour, Andrew had not thrown himself into the abandon of medication yet, and his interest spikes from its flat line. Wymack had said nothing other than that Andrew needs to get to his apartment. Immediately. He doesn't lack the self-preservation skills to think it better to surprise Andrew with anything of import to, anything that would cause problems in his sober state. That means it's likely Andrew's particular set of skills is necessary, though he couldn't narrow down which one Wymack wants him for. It's possible that he wishes for his apathy in the face of anything. Or that he called Andrew when he knew he was sober, wanting sober Andrew's undiluted personality. Or even that he wants Andrew's knives.

Andrew had chosen Wymack because he fostered Andrew with none of the open hostility or hesitation that the other coaches had offered. Exy is worthless, a waste of time; but a waste of time is precisely what Andrew had chosen it for after Juvie. He had flourished in the goal, the only spot open for him and his aggression on the court. The foxes had also opened the option to extend their team to Andrew's family. Despite their belief in his psychosis, he told Wymack to scout them.

Now, after a full year on the team, Andrew is being called to Wymack's apartment. He's not entirely without thought; the fact that this isn't for Andrew doesn't mean it isn't just as dangerous had it been. Andrew takes his time getting to Wymack's apartment, rapping his knuckles on the door at nearly the half-hour mark.

Without medication to dull and soften his barbed wire outline, Andrew stands like an omen. Black lining his body like it might truly be a part of him, skin paler than the blonde atop his head, honey eyes heavy with darkness, and quiet hall. His face is impassive, bordering aggression as Wymack swings the door open. He is one of the few that wouldn't show discomfort at the scene--but then again he knows the kinds of thoughts that dance lazily--that is to say, with little effort--through Andrew's head.

Andrew doesn't ask, because Wymack had come to him, and could just as well finish it. He waits patiently at the entrance to Wymack's apartment, the coach still half-heartily blocking the opening. 

And then finally, "I don't need to say it, but I will: the others don't know until I say." Andrew's blank stare as a form of agreement is the key to Wymack's moving, because he steps back finally and opens the door wider. Andrew steps through the doorway carefully but not slowly, and his fingers tick a little with their want for what lay beneath his arm bands. Andrew is never violent without reason, and Wymack has a modicum of self-preservation at the very least, but still Andrew's whole body tenses for the danger. Good things didn't happen at night in dark rooms, and Wymack's apartment is nearly devoid of light. 

His hands go slack when his eyes see what Wymack referred to. "I think," he says a little less carefully than he should probably, "that the foxes have one too many broken toys." Andrew hears Wymack shut and lock the door before clicking his tongue in reprimand. 

Kevin Day sits bloody and somewhat bandaged on Wymack's couch looking down at his wrists, some type of catatonic emotion stuck on his face. The apartment that the coach lives in isn't exactly without lack of wear or object, but this new body seems to be, by far, the most occupying. He remembers the last time he saw Kevin; paired with Riko and unsuccessfully goading him to the Ravens.

Andrew can see the hospital band on Kevin's wrist, and Wymack only stands next to Andrew without further explanation, so he asks, "How did you manage to get him released if that's the state he's in?"

"He just left surgery a day ago. He's here now." Again with limited response. Andrew has been with the foxes too long to consider looting around for answers.

"You've taken up the entirety of my patience. You asked me here; I won't play detective."

"I didn't ask you here, I played messenger. _He_ asked for you," Wymack thumbs at Kevin. There's a pregnant pause where the three men exchange looks of varying degrees of exhaust and interest. Interesting, Andrew thought, that Kevin might ask for him in these circumstances. 

"Riko did this," Kevin says finally, moving his left hand and grimacing when he does. Andrew is inclined to say whatever surgeon worked on Kevin's hand did a shit job; that, or surgery really wasn't pretty one day post-op. It is likely the second, but considering circumstances, the first isn't out ruled completely.

Andrew barely acknowledges the confession. What little he knew of the Ravens consisted almost entirely of Riko's brutality on the court and the perfect duo, that 'might not be so perfect'--which apparently isn't.

"You should take more of Riko's old play things; you'd have quite the team if you did," Andrew sneers to Wymack. 

If Wymack were anyone else, Andrew included, he might have said, "I did just fine taking from Columbia," with a certain viciousness. But instead he says, "The Foxes are not the Raven's particular brand of fucked." Maybe it's the late hour and surprise of the son of exy showing up that loosens Wymack's firm control over himself, just slightly. 

Andrew considers it a moment, deciding he was, in fact, interested enough to ask, "And what particular brand is that?"

There's a tangible pause where Andrew thinks he might have to ask again, but Kevin speaks up, "Yakuza." He wets his lips the continues, "It's all a front, the whole team. They give Riko free reign on the team and keep it all in line with the second son." Kevin thinks a moment, presumably deciding where to start next on his story.

"The Moriyamas run it all, but they believe in an order. First sons get it all, and second sons get the scraps. Tetsuji is the second son, and created a convenient opening for the first sons." Another pause. "But that's beside the point, Riko did this because he wanted to prove he was better than me."

Andrew waits an amount of time that tells him Kevin is done speaking before, "I'd say he proved it."

This time, Wymack doesn't chastise Andrew, only lets his hand rub at his temples. Kevin retrieves alcohol from somewhere between his legs, where Andrew had not seen it, and takes to downing a few gulps. Andrew stops him by stealing the bottle and drinking some of his own, to keep withdrawal at bay and stop Kevin from his imminent oblivion.

He pulls his lips from the bottle with a satisfying popping sound, content that he knows enough of the story--or at least of what they deem important (he could work out the fine details later; like how exactly Riko had done this, or where Kevin had surgery.). 

"You called on the monster to protect you from the other monster," Andrew guesses.

"Andrew," Kevin strains, "You know why I asked for you." Actually, he does, but that means little to Andrew. 

"And you know why I'll say no," he replies coolly. 

Kevin's gaze leaves Andrew's and finds Wymacks, "Can't you just t--" Wymack stops him short.

"Andrew is his own. I called him, and that's all I'll do--in fact, it's probably all I'll get him to do for the next month." He makes a step back for show, to say that this is where Kevin remains alone.

"Andrew, I--" he drifts off, sensing where the conversation would go if he takes that path. He chooses something different then, "Fine, you won't have me; you told me that a year and a half ago. But I can't go back, and I can't stop exy. This is the only place to be. Give me your protection and I'll abide by 'the monster's' rules." Kevin says 'the monster' like it sits funny on his tongue and Andrew wants to hit him for that alone. 

He thinks on this a moment, taking a swig of alcohol--whisky, he found out earlier. "The neighbors will notice a stray cat licking at its owner's heels. My silence means nothing when they find Kevin Day hiding behind me." Kevin smiles pure relief at Andrew's acceptance. 

"We'll tell them, but not until practice officially starts," Wymack pipes in. "For now, it's just you guys up at Abby's."

"Perfect plan, save one small thing--well, large, actually. Nicky can't keep a secret."

"I'll make an excuse, you have to be at the dorms for supervision. Kevin and you will move in early--I'll pull something."

It might work. Andrew's plans usually have much more certainty than this, which is why he says that this is not what will happen. "Aaron and Nicky will move into the dorms, and you will watch them while Kevin and I make home sweet home at Columbia. They think I have my own reasons to be in Columbia." 

The one reason being a combination of the places that make Columbia's night life. On more than one occasion Andrew had conducted the events and activities their small group did in Columbia. His production of it now would be no shock, just disappointment, most of it from Nicky.

Wymack says he'll call the dean and head of housing in the morning, when it's not an ungodly hour. It's nearing 4:30. Andrew isn't done yet. 

He tells Wymack, "Go do something coach-ly. Kevin's mine now, and I'm not done." He sits down on the coffee table, legs crossed and facing Kevin; they're nearly eye-to-eye, but still Kevin looms over Andrew.

Wymack gives him a weary look before retreating to his office, pointedly keeping the door open. 

Andrew tilts his head a little, as if it will help him perceive something new. He takes another sip of the whiskey, then offers it to Kevin. "One drink, then I ask. Make it a good one because I want answers, not alcohol fumbled memory."

"I couldn't forget if I tried," he says before complying. He gives the bottle back to Andrew without struggle. 

Andrew knows the who and the why, so he finishes the questions. Where: the court. What: rather cruelly, a stick. When: two days ago. Surgery: closest hospital to Edgar Allen. 

When Kevin is finished with an in-depth telling of the story, mentioning several bits of his and Riko's past, it's breaching six. Andrew drinks more to stave off withdrawal. Andrew tells Kevin to throw himself of the edge, and hands him the bottle. Andrew himself rides out the last few hours of sobriety he can manage. 

It's around the time that Andrew doses up, nine, that Wymack says he has the permission for Nicky and Aaron. Kevin is asleep, strewn limbs across the couch.

"I'm telling them now. If he moves from that couch--even to puke--before I get back, call me." He heads for the door, his keys in hand. He adds, "We're going to Columbia today," before he shuts the door. 

Aaron is stone faced at the news, and walks to the back porch of Abby's house. Nicky whines and begs, which only makes Andrew more venomous, with his cold cruelty. 

Medication, in a way, did soften his sharp edges; by pointing them outwards and leaving the dull bits to jab awkwardly at his body. Nicky is, not for the first time, experiencing the sharpness that Andrew is. 

He says, "Enough," like his is poised to start, waiting for the next objection, and Nicky hears it. It lulls him to a silence. 

Andrew had considered leaving them at Abby's, but he doesn't want to risk any of them in the doctor's house. The dorms have, at this time in the year, less variables. 

Wymack had not called him, and found it accurate that Kevin had not moved from the couch. He lay perhaps more haphazardly than before. Wymack leaves Andrew to wake Kevin, and returns to the Kitchen, where he was before Andrew knocked. 

He tries first calling Kevin's name, which does not work in the slightest. It takes multiple attempts, that ends in Andrew yanking Kevin by the collar and onto the floor. The sudden meet of body and not-soft carpet elicit a groggy sound from Kevin. 

"Not fair. Not fucking fair."

Andrew smiles a feral smile, "'My rules.'"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin and Andrew find a rhythm to each other, find a way to not be so animosity filled.

Andrew sits atop the covers of his bed in Columbia, letting what little afternoon-sunlight flickers though the blinds coat his body. They had arrived at the house less than a half hour ago. Andrew wasted no time in shoving Kevin the the bathroom for a shower. 

Kevin had taken Andrew's comment seriously in that early morning, taking himself to oblivion in a bottle. He reeked of whisky in the car, and Andrew drove particularly recklessly because of it. Andrew has too many things with problems, yet he just added one with a drinking problem. 

He hears the water shut off, and the heavy thumps that are Kevin trying to find his way to a towel in the bathroom. Clearly, his heavy head had not thought to get a towel, or ask for one, before hand. Andrew thinks about getting up and helping, but instead smiles as the fumbling continues. 

He hears multiple cabinet doors shutting before Kevin finds the right one; Andrew can tell because for a few moments it's quiet. Then there's the sound of the bathroom door opening and footsteps stopping. 

Once Kevin was in the shower earlier, Andrew went to Nicky's room--the closest to Kevin's size--and found decent enough clothing, setting them on the floor outside the door. Kevin clearly saw them, shutting the bathroom door again, this time to get dressed. 

Another bout of awkward sounds as Kevin works his way around the bathroom to get changed, then exiting and walking towards Andrew's room. Andrew had left it open so that he could hear better, so Kevin didn't have to stop before entering. Andrew made no sign that he would acknowledge Kevin, maintaining his stare at the ceiling. 

"Your rules means I'm supposed to sit at the edge of your bed and wait for the next instruction?" Kevin says, not quite as mad as he might have intended.

Andrew flicks his eyes to Kevin's, who had moved to the side of Andrew's bed when he talked. "For now." Kevin makes a 'tsk' sound, but no objection. "We'll go out later; I haven't gotten the chance to sleep yet. For now, this is home sweet home, act like it." Andrew smiles when he says it, and Kevin takes it as dismissal. "Shut the door," he calls out as Kevin leaves.

Andrew hears Kevin throughout the house, trying to navigate and familiarize himself with the foreign walls. Andrew falls asleep thinking about what he has to do when he wakes up.

His eyes flick open, hurried but less than panicked considering the medication that still weighs him down. He hates the dreams that leave phantom touches over his body, and he hates it even more because behind his shield of medication, he can't find it in himself to care very much about it. 

He stays like he woke for a minute, letting his fingers curl suggestively and unfurl without haste. It's more unhurried minutes until Andrew fully comes to, and finally listens for the sound of another in the house.

Kevin is quiet now, because all Andrew hears is his own breathing and hum of the air conditioning. A glance at the alarm clock to his left says it's nearing five in the afternoon. He thinks a second and decides it's too early to go out. They have to leave before too long because stores will close, but he doesn't intend on leaving when rush hour traffic is at its peak.

He sits up, allowing himself the pleasure of hearing the bed shift under his weight and watch his body come to the movements of being awake. It's something to lose himself in, if only for a moment, in the privacy of closed doors. 

The thought of medicating again before leaving crosses his mind and then leaves it. It would be too late, and then Andrew would be up half the night weaning off of it. Kevin would soon get used to his sober state anyways. Being so far from the people who knew and regulated Andrew meant that it left only Andrew to regulate Andrew; which is to say that Andrew should abstain when possible, or risk worse things. 

He eyes the bottle that sits rather innocently on his bed side table. He had better leave them here when Kevin and he go out, rather than risk temptation. 

With a quick movement, the bottle is shoved into the confines of the table's drawer, to be grasped at rather desperately come morning. 

He sits another moment, calculating how long before he would be desperate, and how much he should drink before leaving the house. He figures it would be best to start now. 

Andrew lets his sock-clad feet brush the floor constantly rather than pick them up, and makes his way from his bedroom to the kitchen. On the way, he sees Kevin in the living room, whom had not noticed Andrew. Andrew would have said he was deaf, considering the sound his dragging feet make, but he also hears the exy sounds coming from the television. _Addict._

The cabinet containing a variety alcohol is rather low, so that not only the tallest of the cousins can reach it, but also the shortest. Andrew reaches blindly; he doesn't care what he grabs, only that it be something stronger than beer (which is in the fridge, and not the cabinet). He winds up with middle-shelf vodka. Not the best to sip at, and not the worst. 

He considers grabbing a glass before deciding it would be too much hassle. He thinks too, while in the kitchen, that he should eat. He hadn't eaten much today, and his stomach had (thankfully) not protested very much to the presence of his medication without the presence of food, but he doesn't feel the need to test it when he is weaning off of them.

He grabs an opened bag of chips from the bottom cupboard, and files out to the living room, where Kevin had finally been made aware of Andrew's awake state. Kevin reacts in no way save for the tension sitting anew in his shoulders. Andrew ignores it and sits on the opposite end of the couch when Kevin wordlessly moves his feet. 

Tall people take up too much room, he thinks to spite himself and Kevin. He ignores the exy playing, content for now to simply eat and drink. But after a few strained minutes, loud crunches, and quick sips, Andrew speaks up.

"We'll go out in a bit," he says to a spot on the wall. "Nicky, I think you'll find, is not suited for everything Kevin Day," he finishes, to a different spot on the wall that offers a little bit more of his presence to Kevin, a little more of his alertness. 

A moment, and then, "Am I to play guessing games with you this whole time, beg the answers I wish, or will you always give me only enough to follow you?" Kevin had paused the game (dare he miss a moment of it) and faced Andrew as fully as he could while sitting on the same couch. Clearly he had thought about this a lot since their encounter after Kevin's shower.

"It's quite easy to follow someone, and, in fact, doesn't involve any information once soever. But if the queen insists, I'll think on it." Kevin frowns, and Andrew says, "My rules, remember?"

Andrew lets himself return to the idleness of munching while drinking something that definitely isn't meant to be sipped at like he is. He thinks Kevin might object again, for he knows that 'my rules' only works for so long, but he doesn't. Kevin hits play and returns to the Trojans game.

Andrew thinks. Kevin needs Andrew's protection, and Andrew said okay. Roughly twelve hours had passed since he had agreed to this circumstance, and they were hours that sat uncomfortably. Andrew decides that when they go out tonight, he will settle this. It will not go on for days or weeks that they find their place at one another's sides. They will find it now, before the others are a factor that Andrew can't account for.

He feels the difference come on to him, slowly; the difference between medicated and not sober. He feels when his edges sharpen and feel of vodka is the only high in his system. He hadn't noticed--he never does--that he was smiling before, but he feels it fall from his face. 

He sets the chips to the side, and lets himself rely entirely on the vodka. If he does it right, he might not puke. Might. 

It isn't something that, though it entirely is, is an exact science. Andrew doesn't usually spend time staving off the effects, and usually lets it be a grand thing that simply 'happens' to him. He had figured that Kevin's first night would be best off if Andrew didn't subject the other man to his entire sobriety. 

Sometimes, Andrew pauses and focuses on shoving himself down to avoid having to puke. Sometimes, he stills and his muscles contract and pull tight in the effort it takes to keep himself in check. Sometimes he swallows what threatens to come up. Nonetheless, he manages to keep his place on the couch without incident. 

He waits a comfortable amount of time before returning to drinking. He isn't stupid enough to drink so much that he can't drive, but he knows that he is nearing that limit. He makes sure to twist the cap securely onto the bottle and set it on the coffee table. They will leave soon, now that Andrew is sure he won't be driving though his coming down. 

"Pause your game, we're leaving," Andrew says while getting up, vodka and chips in hand. He thinks that Kevin might, too, object to this on multiple basis. Be it more unsettled tension or the fact that he had just finished an unhealthy dose of alcohol. He doesn't, however, but instead stops the game and shuts the television off.

They put on shoes in silence, and Andrew grabs the keys. They don't talk in the car either, Andrew more than content to let the sounds of late-afternoon traffic fill his ears rather than the drone of Kevin's objections to his submission to Andrew--which is essentially what anyone asked of Andrew when they asked for him.

Andrew goes to a bulk store, where the shoppers are usually suburban moms--who would not be out at this time of day, but rather eating dinner with their families--so that it will be less crowded. 

He nearly says, "Run wild," but stops himself before the words even form on his tongue. The Moriyamas, from what he had heard, were not to be messed with. He wouldn't be the dumb-ass to lose it after a few hours because he wanted to pick apart the candy aisle by himself. So he says, "I don't think I need to give you a list," instead. It also serves as the first step in settling the uneven ground between them, giving Kevin this chance to lead. It's not like Andrew's saying to run wild, as he first was going to, but it's human. It's not demanding as he had been in the previous few hours.

Kevin takes it in stride, and heads to the men's section. Most of what he would need would be clothes, toiletries, and a few other items to make the foxes into a home. 

Andrew follows Kevin joylessly through the racks of clothing. He had brought nothing from Edgar Allen, save for a small duffle that contained mostly exy things. Andrew does, at one point, eye a particular turtle neck he thinks he bought much cheaper a year ago. A flimsy thought because he has little else to think of while allowing the obedient roll.

More than once, they skirt the path to the fitting rooms to ensure that the pants do indeed meet the length requirement of Kevin's legs; and more than once pants do, but do not meet the requirement of his thighs. An exy player--a striker no less--has no shortage of muscle in their legs. 

Toiletries are a much faster ordeal, not requiring the same back and forth as clothing. And somewhere in between lay personal effects. A few books and magazines, notebook or two. Nothing spectacularly odd, but things that would help Kevin feel less like a fish out of water--though that effect would only dull, and not disappear. 

They finish nearly an hour and a half after they came. Andrew pays for some of it, and Kevin some of it. Kevin has no short of money, that Andrew knows, but he hadn't the time to get to it yet. There is also the fact that it was smarter to avoid taking out money where the Moriyamas could get to it--regardless of the fact that they no doubt know exactly where he is.

Andrew bought a pint of ice cream in the store, so when they get home he grabs a spoon and sits on the couch to dig in. He got chocolate chunks, so he chews slowly and listens to more shuffling from Kevin. Andrew can tell he's meticulous in putting everything away in some semblance of order. 

Andrew told him to clear out one of Nicky's drawers and stick the contents in the closet. The sounds of Kevin reordering the clothing multiple times is deafening in the otherwise silent house. It's much louder with Nicky and Aaron here. Andrew wonders if Kevin will ever be louder than dragging feet, an exy game, and a couple of whines. 

Twenty minutes pass, and Kevin joins Andrew on the couch, again the opposite end. Andrew knows how Kevin is, this distance is different for him. It's not possible that he's finally learning that he shouldn't be so near to Andrew. But at the very least, the tension is gone from his shoulders. 

It's all a game; Andrew lets the leash out just a little, and Kevin is content. Still though, he would have to find a better peace and place for the two of them. This had been a stepping stone to the beginning of it all. 

Kevin doesn't move, or do much of anything on the couch besides stare straight ahead. Andrew lets him sit for a minute, and then tosses the remote in his lap. He could sit through the rest of an exy game for an even bigger game. 

They sit in silence, Andrew eating his ice cream and Kevin watching his game. When the game ends, Andrew stops him from playing another one by turning the television off with the other remote, the one for only the television. 

"I'm going to my room, and I won't listen to stick ball through the walls. Find something else to do." It's the only goodnight that Kevin will receive from Andrew, and Andrew leaves him. 

Alone in his room, he thinks and thinks and thinks. Strategy is key. 

It's always been hard to deal with Kevin, the few times he has had to. It's harder now that he's whiny and self-deprecating. Andrew thinks it was easier when they first met, when Riko and Kevin had shown up to recruit Andrew. 

_"Andrew."_

_The name is broken on the other man's lips. Andrew hasn't known the voice long, but it still registers before he turns around. "Kevin." Cold. Detached. Kevin isn't smart for trying to appeal to his better nature at night time. Night time means he hasn't dosed up. "The answer's still no."_

_"Andrew." Again, the break in his voice. Andrew can see his eyes are watery, maybe a little unbelieving._

_"Cat got your tongue? Spit it out, Day," he growls. Kevin steps closer, leaving a foot's space between them and Andrew to look up at a sharp angle to his face. He skin tingles with the close proximity. No one is supposed to come this close to him._

_"It's you."_

_Andrew is about to spit out, "No shit," when Kevin holds his arm out, wrist upturned. It's his clock. It's hit zero. Andrew carefully looks at his own wrist, only to show it still counting down, the fuzzy little numbers still moving._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story time: Once upon a time Kevin Day....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SOO sorry! I hope you guys haven't given up hope on me for this one! 
> 
> I don't know when I can update next, so for that I apologize. I have a few other fics on the table as well as trying to continue some older ones like this one. Have no fear though, I abandoned this fic once, but not again. I am really happy with this fic, just unfortunately am a terrible updater.

Once upon a time there was a boy who was born with a crown heavy on his shoulders. A crown was much too large a thing for a child to bear, so the boy was given a number. The boy did not question this number because it was his number. There was another boy; he, too, had a crown that was far to hefty for his small body and was bestowed a number. He did not question this number because it was his number. These numbers were two and one, respectively. 

Number one took deep pleasure in knowing that one was a far better number than two; but he was a greatly humble child, so he took number two as his brother and treated him as his equal. Because of this action, everyone around them, too, forgot the difference between the numbers. They saw the two boys as parts of a whole, who would one day run the kingdom with twin rule.

One day after playing together, number two asked number one why the clock on his wrist wasn't counting down, but read all zeroes. Number two thought it possible that the other boy had already met the person that the clock was supposed to count down to, but number one dashed these thoughts by saying that he had always had a blank clock. Number two was horrified and cried that it would mean he was lonely. Number two laughed fully, the way that little kids do, and declared, "I was born to rule, my kingdom is the only soulmate I shall ever have." This made number two very scared. But when number one threw his arm around him, the worry passed from his mind. 

After years of playing together, another boy was added to their ranks. He was not found with a crown on his shoulders, as number one and number two had been, but he was taken with expectations thrust onto his person. This third boy was told to blend in with number one and number two, but that he would never be what they were. This boy was given the number three. 

There was once nearly a number four, but he was killed before he was given the chance to be great. Two and Three were scared and awoke with nightmares of blood. 

The three boys played together for years. Sometimes people got hurt, and number two and three were wary of the pain around them. Number one told them it was a necessary part of ruling, so they said it must be. Number one would not lie. Still, they could not rid themselves of the moral strife it caused them to see pain surround them, so they swore to not partake in this pain. They swore to lead differently. Both knew that number three's promise held little meaning, but they were kids and sentiments were everything. 

When number two first saw Three's clock, he exclaimed in surprise. His clock was even longer than his own. Number two's clock had less than ten years, whereas number Three's read nearly ten years exactly. Sometimes, after finding this out, Two would ask Three to think him up someone magical enough to slay the dragon and rescue him, and he would do the same for number three. 

It made Two very upset to see that One did not like Three. The boys had grown together, and they were now nearly young men, and with their limbs had grown an animosity for Three. When Two was 16, One started to hit Three. Two did not know this until he walked in on the boy hitting the other. There was so much red on Three's face that number two could not see his distinct features. 

Two ran to close the distance between their bodies and his. He threw his body weight into pulling a clenched and readied fist away from Three's face. There were tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. He choked back sobs and begged an answer as to why One would do this. Number one answered, cruelty in his eyes, "Because I can."

After this, there were many times that Two found One being cruel, though it was rarely aimed for Two himself. Still was the humble little boy who would share his kingdom with the lesser number two. This was all, though, that he would give. 

Two turned 18 and he was accepted into the castle, practically reigning. All three boys, in fact, were accepted into the castle. They found that there were many on their council, and a regent called Master above them, but that they would rule their court effectively. One found that it was easier to be vicious then. 

Two's clock was nearing zero - and of course so was Three's, but his had a handful of years more than Two. Two's clock was counting less than a year until he met the person who would slay his dragon. He was terrified of what dragon would need slaying. 

One was also anxious for Two's approaching zero. If he caught too clear a glimpse of the clock, he was prone to violence - violence that was too often not taken out on him, but on Three. Sometimes One would punish Two, would hit him squarely in the face and tell their subjects that life at court was rough on occasion. 

They were nearly through with their first year ruling when Two asked One to find another boy - rather, to get another boy. Two had already found the boy. Two said that he wanted this boy to be Four. It took weeks to convince One that this boy was deserving of the title they would simply hand to him. (It had been made clear over the years that only number one was worth something, and certainly nothing less than two was anything.)

Two's clock read less than a day when they traveled across kingdoms to find the boy who would be number four. He was scared of meeting his soulmate with One so close to his side. (In other kingdom's they had to be careful, because people wanted to hurt them for ruling their own.)

They had to watch the new boy rule before they could offer the title Four to him. So they watched this boy on the court. They watched his easy skill and handling. They watched him succeed for his subjects. 

Number one and number two approached the boy and told him of the splendors he could have if he called himself Four. And then this boy did something that angered One and Two.

He denied them.

One and Two tried, then, to plead with this boy. They had now seen his skill as a ruler and knew him fit to be Four. And yet, he would not budge in his refusal. One and Two left this boy with their heads low and anger simmering. Number two, with his head held low, caught his gaze on something as he departed from the infuriating boy. 

The numbers on his clock had stopped moving. They had hit zero. 

Number two hid this from One's eyes. He could not risk more anger from One. He shoved his hand into his pockets, where his wrist could be safely tucked against his pants for no one to see. 

That night they stayed at an inn in the foreign kingdom because the journey back to their own would be too much for their tiring bodies. Two waited until One was deep asleep before sneaking out of the inn and towards the almost-Four's castle. 

The boy was not in his castle, but standing outside of it. He was looking at something in the distance that he could not see. He was scared. 

He called the boys name and saw him tense in anger. The boy told Two that he still denies them. The boy was angry. Two tried to soothe him, but only ended up saying his name again. The boy was angrier now, telling Two to spit out whatever it is he's trying to say. 

Two managed a weak, "It's you," before stepping closer and offering his wrist to the boy. This caused all feeling and emotion from the boy's stature to leave. The boy carefully looked down to his own wrist, and Two's heart was stiffed. The boy's clock was still counting, beneath a haze of damage, but counting. 

They stood in silence, the hollow of these confessions too much for words for a moment. And then the boy spoke, carefully and with poison, "I may be your answer, but you sure as fuck aren't mine." He told two to leave his kingdom, for he would have nothing to do with him. 

Two returned to the inn, to a sleeping One, and cried into his pillow.

One and Two returned to their kingdom sans a new boy and continued their rule. Two tried to forget about this boy. Sometimes he succeeded, and sometimes he did not. 

In the start of their second year of rule, their subjects whispered that One held Two back from being the ruler that he could be. They whispered that Two was the golden boy and One was stopping him from golden glory. These whispers gathered and strengthened into the winter of their second year. 

In the winter, One was cold, callous, and quick to action without thinking. He told his subjects that he would prove himself the better ruler in a duel. Two agreed to this duel because he was curious himself, and because he could not deny One. 

They fought each other bravely, and before the fight was over it was clear that Two was faring better. One was enraged. At end the duel he did something unjust. He broke Two's fighting arm. There could not be a good ruler who was not able to fight. One ended the battle by ending Two's reign. 

In the confusion of the battle ending, Two escaped. He staggered to a medic, where he was worked on for hours. They advised him to stay, so that they could take care of their fallen ruler. Two could not stay in this kingdom that was no longer his, that may never have been his. So he fled. 

He fled to a man who he knew was a good man. He fled to the kingdom that the almost number four had been brought. He had been brought in by this man, who Two knew was a good man. And upon entering this man's kingdom he asked for the nearly-Four, because he was now in the presence of a good man and he needed someone to slay his dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, SO SORRY. But I would love to see your guys' comments! They make my day!
> 
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> **My url has changed since the last update, so come find me on tumblr[@quexnk](http://quexnk.tumblr.com/)**

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on my tumblr: [ajminyrd ](http://ajminyrd.tumblr.com)


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